Chapter Nine

     The dawn " as breathtaking as it was, hues reminiscent of rose and amber, cool air brisk in the lungs " was not welcome to Nicolle. Returning home was never welcome; Nicolle had hoped she would be able to spend the entirety of the weekend at the van Valen’s, but:

            “Sorry, Darling,” Vee told her. “Mum and dad asked me to go with them to see some of my folks and I said yes. This was before you came into the picture, otherwise I’d have said no thanks, but…” She shrugged and Nicolle told her it was okay, that she understood, but she could feel the high she’d been on depressing into gloom. Her little visit was over; it was time to put up the toys and say goodbye.

            The van Valens were to leave early, so Nicolle prepared to go before that. With her new outfits in hand she went to Edward and Cora each and thanked them; though she only said thank you for having me she really said thank you for giving me what I’ve never had. She felt like she was part of something good, something with heart, and what was better was that the van Valen’s seemed to feel the same way.

            Vee drove Nicolle back to her car " dew covered and alone in the school parking lot " and took Nicolle’s hand into her own before letting her exit the Bug. Nicolle had suspected that Vee detected her discomfort returning home… it had been on her mind all morning.

            “I’ll stay in touch,” she said. “Take care of yourself. You’re not alone anymore, you know. And besides… Monday’s just tomorrow.”

            As usual; all the right words. “Thanks.”

            Nicolle watched her friend drive away with heavy sighs and slumped shoulders. She got into her own car without haste, hating the same familiar smells, the less than attractive rips and stains, all saying welcome back to what sucks, chump. She backed out of the parking lot and began the lonely drive home, shivering the entire way. Even still, she couldn’t be too upset; it was bankable that there were many more days like yesterday (and early that very morning; they had stayed up a long time) to come, which pushed the gloom back a fair bit. And more so: the memories of the previous day were a like a feast in Nicolle’s mind, tasty morsels to get by on throughout the day.

            She was still a bit embarrassed by her crush on Elijah being known. Vee’s reaction helped, though; her determination to see Nicolle and Elijah together was twofold, she later said: “Gets Presley out of the Hideout, gets you happy… talk about a win-win.” Whatever Vee had planned for helping Nicolle get Elijah she did not share, though, and the notion was scary. Many would be impressed by her new hair, clothes, and Chess Club membership, but Elijah Beaumont would require much more. Even with Vee’s help Nicolle was not optimistic.

            At last she pulled into her driveway, going slowly in hopes of making less noise on the gravel. There were no lights on, but that was no surprise; her stepfather was already gone to work and her mother would likely sleep for several more hours. Not seeing her mother would lessen her dread of coming back; if she could get her hands on a drink and a little bit of breakfast she would be set to hide the Sunday away in her room, driven by the anticipation of returning to school as a Chess Club member the next day.

            Tiptoeing to the house, Nicolle pulled open the screen, turned the handle on the door, and stepped inside. The house was dark, her light-adjusted eyes allowing no sight. She could smell mildew coming from somewhere; if she listened closely she thought she heard a rat scurry across the countertops.

            Her mother’s fist was like a rock, the middle knuckle connecting just below the left eye. Nicolle fell backwards and across the bar; whatever clutter had been piled atop it scattered to the floor. Nicolle’s new outfits, tucked neatly inside the bags Vee had prepared them in, spilled onto the vinyl. Seeing nothing but stars, Nicolle staggered to catch her balance, her eye throbbing.

            “WHERE"”

            Right hand slap across the face.

            “"HAVE"”

            Left hand slap, rapping across the top of the head.

            “"YOU"”

            Right hand slap across the face.

            “"BEEEEEEN?!”

            Nicolle had remained on her feet throughout it all; not liking this, Sylvia double-palm shoved Nicolle with all her might. Nicolle went down fast, crashing into the cabinets behind her; she cried out, one of the cabinet’s handles jabbing her in between the shoulder blades.

            “WELL?!” Nicolle was not looking at her mother, her eyes closed in pain, but she knew how she looked; arms held out theatrically in the air, demanding the answer she so justly deserved, her eyes defining the word fury. “EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!”

            Nicolle climbed to her feet as fast as she could, the better to defend herself if attacked again. “I told you,” she said, not allowing her voice to sound too argumentative; her mother would become physical again, a contest Nicolle could not win. “I stayed with a friend, that’s all"”

            “B***h!” Sylvia grabbed Nicolle by the front of the shirt and slung her in the opposite direction; Nicolle again tumbled to the floor, tears in her eyes, before quickly getting to her feet again.

            “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

            “I SAID NO AND YOU WENT ANYWAY! THAT’S WRONG ENOUGH!”

            Nicolle rubbed her eye; it was swollen. Already her perfect Monday was ruined. She began to cry, her face both sad and furious.

            “ArrrgGHHH! W-WHY!? WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LET ME BE HAPPY, MAMA?!”

            “DON’T RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME!!”

            “JUST SHUT UP!!”

            Nicolle regretted her words instantly, having no time to savor the look of shock that her mother wore for a moment; immediately that expression became enraged and Sylvia was racing at Nicolle, yelling like an animal. Nicolle turned and ran; her mother collided with her and they both fell into a pile in the living room.

            “MAMA, PLEASE!”

            “ARGHHH! YOU… WENCH…!”

            Her mother’s hands wrapped around Nicolle’s neck; panic seized Nicolle, knowing unconsciousness would soon follow. She felt her air go and her throat tighten; something inside stung as if scratched.

            Focus, just as you did with the flower, Nicolle’s friend had said. Remember the feeling… isolate it…

            Nicolle did not know what to expect. Would her mother jolt, as if shocked? Would she scream, as if burned? Or would she " Nicolle’s fear heightened almost to the point of intoxication " simply go limp, her own daughter having removed her from the world…?

            Sylvia looked unfazed in the first few seconds

            Focus

            of it all, her angry expression

            Remember the feeling

            remaining in place; then, as if her mother were realizing something of profound importance, her eyes began to widen

            Isolate it

            and her hold on Nicolle’s neck began to release…

            “Hah,” her mother gasped, unable to catch her breath; Nicolle shifted her weight and her mother rolled off her and onto her back on the dingy carpet.

            “Mama!” Nicolle yelled, shaking her.

            “Hah… hah…” Sylvia’s breath was raspy and alarmed; suddenly, like a backed up toilet, vomit gurgled from her throat and slid down her cheeks and into her hair. She raised a shaking hand to her mouth to cover it, retching again, streams of it leaking between her fingers. She made to sit up, not wanting to drown in it, but only her head lifted; her strength was gone.

            “HELP!” Nicolle yelled, feeling foolish; who would come? Hesitating only a moment longer, paralyzed by the bug eyed animal panic on her mother’s face, Nicolle reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and dialed 911.

            I’ve done it, Nicolle thought with a deep, penetrating dread. I’ve not only killed someone, but the secret will be out… they’ll know it was me, I just know it, they’ll do tests…

            “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

            “My mother, she, uh…” What, exactly? “She’s dying.”

            “Okay, what is wrong with her?”

            “She, um…” Nicolle stuttered, “I don’t know, she just suddenly started shaking and throwing up, and she’s on her back on the floor, and…” Sylvia wasn’t moving; her eyes were open and unblinking. Nicolle let out an involuntarily whimper. “I think she might be dead now.”

           

            Nicolle sat on her bed, eyes on the floor, trying not to think and failing badly. She had the house to herself but felt no thrill from it like usual, no sense of peace. Every few minutes Nicolle stared at her fingers, wondering what exactly came from them that killed things. While in Vee’s room the day before the reality that her hands had the power to kill by touch seemed exciting, a dangerous rush that coupled well with the joys of new friendship. In her room today, alone, the reality that her hands had the power to kill by touch was repulsive.

            When the medics arrived they immediately put her mother inside the ambulance and began checking her out; Nicolle saw them begin various procedures as the driver turned on the emergency lights and blasted out of the driveway. When asked if she was coming Nicolle said she had to stay and look after her elderly grandfather; she was too afraid of the things that would be asked if she actually went. She assured them that her step-father would soon follow, though, calling him once they left and telling him the news. She feigned losing service eventually and hung up, his snappy questions too much.

            Roughly three hours had passed since then, Nicolle wondering if she would be named a murderer for some reason or a hero for calling 911. She didn’t like her mother but she didn’t want her to die; move far away, maybe, but not die. Especially not like that, at the hands of her Black Eyed daughter. What must she have been thinking, her hands around Nicolle’s throat one moment, her body turning on her the next? Confusion? Horror?

            Nicolle finally called her step-father, unable to go without knowing another second. When he answered his hello didn’t sound anguished, angry, or even tired; it sounded pretty normal. So how is she Nicolle asked, her teeth chattering in her warm room, and he answered:

            “She’s okay now, the doctor reckons. She’s talking now, some. Had some kind of reaction to something, but this damn doctor can’t tell us nothing. Said something about traces of something in her blood, they’re sending it off to some kinda lab or something to make sure. Said whatever it was had a kind of paralyzing effect, and attacked her immune system, like she’d been bitten by a rattlesnake maybe. Told’em it just looked like food poisonin’ to me, who knows what she swallowed, all the crap she eats. Give her a shot, give her some juice or something, you know, and if she ain’t gonna die let me get back to work.”

            “Did she say what happened?” Nicolle asked; the chain that had wound itself around her stomach loosened a little, but only a little.

            His words came out rushed and loud, probably freaking out whatever quiet people surrounded him in the hospital. “Said she was in the living room cleaning when it happened. I told her, damn, we all know that’s a lie! You ain’t picked up so much as a sock in three months!” He calmed a little; Nicolle did not fill the silence. “So you just found her like that?”

            “Yes. I walked in and she was on the floor.”

            “Hm.” Neither spoke for a moment. “Well, maybe she did get bit by something. Doctor can’t find any bite marks or anything, but who knows. Told me it was bad, though. Hazardous mix of toxins, I think, was the high-falootin’ way he put it. Seemed kinda suspicious, like maybe I’d drugged her"”

            “Steve?” Nicolle said. “Steve, can you hear me? It’s… it’s breaking up again… the service is so bad here…”

            “You there?” He asked, voice raised. “Can you hear?"”

            Nicolle pushed the red button on her phone and cut him off; for good measure she held it down, turning the phone off entirely. Pure, concentrated stress filled her up like a sloshing liquid, so much of it that she wanted to puke. Her mother would live, but what would come of this? Should she tell Vee? Surely Vee wouldn’t be mad at her… it was self-defense… right?

            After a half-hour of lying in her room, unmoving, Nicolle forced herself to the bathroom and turned on the light. Her eye was black, a dark bruise that was a tinge darker in the one spot where her mother’s knuckle smashed. Her back also ached from the cabinet handle that jabbed her. Nicolle had been visualizing Monday in her head since she had heard Vee say welcome to the Chess Club, her imagination a happy explosion of cool walks down the hallway, people staring jealously, untaken tests being aced, Elijah watching her from the corner of his eye with interest. As soon as her mother-extraordinaire had punched her those visions changed; uncomfortable questions being asked, fingers being pointed, laughter barely hidden, Elijah watching from the corner of his eye with disappointment…

            Nicolle returned to her room and stopped in the middle. Something felt different, as if the things in the room had been rearranged even though they hadn’t. Or more closely: as if the very air in the room had changed somehow, like a window had been allowed open for a minute or two, exchanging the holed-up air for a breath of morning wind.

            “Don’t be scared,” he said from behind her.

            Goosebumps covered Nicolle from top to bottom; her breathing became heavier, her body demanding extra oxygen to help cope with the feeling of hearing a voice from beyond the grave. She forced herself to turn and look at him, not wanting to fear him but fearing regardless.

            “Adam,” she exhaled.

            What a handsome kid that one was. His hair was not dark like Nicolle’s had been but a dashing blonde, curling at the ends; they had shared the same eyes, though, before Nicolle’s had changed. Most importantly, and pointed out endlessly by others when he had lived, his smile was the mirror image of her own, alike in a way only siblings can attain. He had not aged like Nicolle, appearing to her as a child, but exuded the confidence and worldliness of someone much wiser.

            “Good,” he said, grinning. “You stayed conscious this time.”

            Nicolle could not speak. They had not been alone in their room together in ten years. She sank to her knees in front of him, a collaboration of weakness and a desire to see him on his level, her lips trembling, her hands trembling.

            “I’ve waited a long time, you know… …” He walked toward her slowly, gracefully, his presence that of someone stronger than anyone, and stopped a foot or two from her tear covered face and smiled. “Oh, how I’ve missed my little sister.”

            Nicolle cried so forcefully that she covered her hands with her face, her deep sobs hurting her previously choked throat. He even talked the same way, that sincerely charming, effortless-to-love way, a gentleman of the highest caliber; the only change was his greater vocabulary, an older way of speaking.

            Amidst her tears he chuckled. “When first you see me you go unconscious, when second you see me you cover your face… color me flattered, Nicky.”

            Nicolle lowered her hand and looked at him through blurred vision. “I-I-It’s… it’s you…”

            He smiled. “Sure is. I’ve missed you, sis.”

            Nicolle sobbed once or twice, and hard. “I… I-I’ve m-missed you tuh, tuh, too… … you’re really here! It’s you!”

            He reached out and touched her hand. Whether from movies or instinct she knew his ethereal hand would merely pass through her own, as it did, but she gasped when she felt it still; his hand was not cold, the hand of a deceased, but warm, living. All sadness, all anxiety, from the years passed and that morning in particular, left her at once. Her protector, at long, long last, had returned.

            “Don’t cry, Nicky,” he said. “We’ve got some catching up to do " and a lot to talk about -- but not in this house. Will you meet me in the woods?”

            Nicolle nodded. He began to vanish and she raised her hand to stop him. “Wait!... don’t leave me.”

            His image was no longer visible but his voice echoed in the silence of her room:

            “I never have.”

 

            Adam Lincoln Darling developed cancer at the age of nine, a fast spreading cancer that ate at him in a brutal way. Nicolle had never known a stronger person but no one would be capable of standing against such a thing; the doctor’s named his chances of survival very low, saying that the odds of him living past that September were basically nonexistent. His persistence in living to October gave young Nicolle a new hope that big brother would come back, that they were still destined to have their own little adventures for years to come. The grief that came from his passing was immense; even at his funeral Nicolle barely heard a word but simply stared at the casket, at Adam’s small face inside, thinking that’s Adam laying right there, but he’s dead. He’s dead. Despite her inability to listen that day one sentence had remained with her through the years, spoken by the eulogy giver (whoever that was, someone Nicolle didn’t know) near the end of the service.

            Adam Darling may no longer be among us. But from somewhere far away… he is watching us now.

            Nicolle, for a quick moment, hated that man. Why tease Adam’s young, sorrow-filled sister? For Adam to be watching still, from a cloud, or another planet, or with angels " whatever " such would allow her sorrow to soothe some, and for her to rest knowing his eyes were on her still, that he was still out there somewhere. But why be wishful? She knew the truth; why didn’t that moronic eulogy giver know it, too? Adam was right there in the casket, graveyard dead… who could possibly hold such a stupid belief as to accept that he was watching them?

            Nicolle gripped the flannel stitch in her hand tightly, running as hard as she could across the sunny countryside, her house growing smaller behind her, the woods not far now. Those woods were a familiar haunt for Nicolle and Adam, a place in between their house and their grandparent’s. The landscape of trees, rocks, brush, and a creek made it the sort of place Fire Woman would be unlikely to come, mad or not. The memories there were almost exclusively positive, whether they played their game of Wolf Boy and Salem or they simply sat and discussed their home life.

            Adam was waiting for her there.

            We’ve got some catching up to do, he had said. And a lot to talk about.

            Nicolle entered the woods with her breath held; the mystical quality of sunbeams piercing through treetops felt appropriate for such an occasion. She knew it hadn’t actually happened, she wasn’t an idiot, but still… … the feeling that she had stepped into the past was paramount, so strong a sensation that she wondered if her hands would be the small things of a child if she looked down. After all, going into the woods, that hidden place, with Adam was a thing of her past, when she was a little girl. To be doing it again felt like she was walking in a dream.

            In the middle of the woods sat no beautiful storybook meadow but a clearing covered with pine needles and fallen trees, a single large hill dividing the middle; more sunlight touched this place than anywhere else. Facing away from her was a ghost; he stood in the sunlight, arms crossed, his usual ethereal glow enhanced by the pillar of light. The person was too tall to be her Adam, though... this was someone else. Who had invaded their hidden place?

            Breathing in the magic air, heart racing as it does when the deceased walk among her, Nicolle said, “Hello?”

            He turned and looked at her. This boy’s hair curled at the tips of his golden-brown locks, his white shirt hanging loosely around him, his gentle smile a mirror of Nicolle’s own. Nicolle gasped.

            “Expecting a stranger, Nicky?” Goodness. His voice was soft but still so much deeper than when he was a child; Adam was a heavenly creature, divine beauty emanating from him almost as strong as his love for his sister.

            “Adam,” she whispered. The boy who was never to grow old had grown up. Nicolle had always wondered what her sibling would have looked like at twenty; at last she knew. “Look at yourself, Adam…”

            He nodded but seemed uninterested in himself. “Look at you. Who would have expected my uncombed little sister to grow up so lovely.” He chuckled. “That said, seeing you older is no surprise to me... I watched you grow up.”

            A lump formed in Nicolle’s throat. “How long have you been... like that... a ghost?”

            He laughed gently; to Nicolle, it was the sound of wind chimes. “Most of us prefer the term spirit, sis... calling us ghosts sounds a little Halloween. Not to say that there aren’t spirits who embrace that, haunting houses and such.” His smile faded as he peered down memory lane. “I’ve been like this from the moment I died.”

            For ten years, then. For ten years her big brother, just a child, had wondered the world of spirits, a world Nicolle had not believed in, watching " unseen and unheard " over her. What must he have felt in the beginning, just a boy, tossed into a mysterious existence? He had likely been afraid, but it was obvious now: the person Adam had become, having traveled this world and the next, had relinquished fear.

            “I don’t know what to say,” Nicolle said, and she didn’t; what do you say in circumstances such as these? She didn’t possess the words to express her feelings.

            “Neither do I,” he said, “but perhaps we should start with something. I can’t stay too long.”

            Nicolle twitched. “Why?”

            “There are spiritual laws, too, just like there are physical ones… like the laws of motion and such,” he said, shrugging with a grin. “I don’t understand it perfectly, I’m sure there are spirits somewhere that do, but it’s tiring to stay in this world for too long. After a while we must return to something like a soul sleep. Then we can come back, when we’re rested. That’s why you haven’t seen me since that day in class… I exhausted all of my strength trying to get your attention " I noticed your Black Eyes and had to try -- and I ran out of time while you were unconscious. I’ve been waiting to return.”

            “You know about the Black Eyes?” Nicolle asked, shocked. “But how…? Did another spirit tell you, or…?”

            Adam plopped gracefully onto the grassy hill. “Sit next to me… let’s talk a while.”

           

            It was like the old days.

            “Let’s live out here,” Nicolle said, her expression one of absolute seriousness.

            “I betcha we could,” Adam said, laying on his back looking at the clouds beyond the treetops. “Live off the land and stuff.”

            “We’d need bug spray and stuff.”

            “Nah, we couldn’t. Somedays the hunt might go slow, we’d have to find bugs for food.”

            “Blech,” Nicolle grunted. “Nope.”

            The conversation faded away, replaced by the sound of woodpeckers, and swaying leaves, and bluejays, and crickets.

            “Miss Crabtree asked me where I got that bruise on my leg,” Adam said conversationally.

            The suspense was immediate to Nicolle, whose eyes widened and she sat up. “What’d you say?”

            He shrugged. “I told her I tripped. It kinda sounded sort of like to me that thought I was being pestered by some kid there at school, cause she said ‘if I called and asked your mama or daddy about that what would she say?’ You know, expecting Mama to say that I hadn’t tripped. That I was being bullied cause I had a bruise like fingers. But I told her that Mama would probably agree with me.” He picked up a pebble and tossed it at a nearby plant, missing it by an inch. “She probably would, probably. I don’t think she’d tell her what happened.”

            Nicolle picked up a pebble and threw it at the small plant, too; after a moment they had a game, Hit the Plant. She was a little afraid; she didn’t want that teacher calling her house with questions about that. She just wanted the whole incident forgotten; her Mama would probably just get mad again if it got brought back up. And " just like before " Adam would redirect her anger from Nicolle to himself, perhaps leading to a bruise on his other leg, too.

            Adam’s pebble connected, shaking the leaves of the plant. No one made anything of it. Adam laid back down onto his back and Nicolle mimicked him. There was only silence for minutes.

            “I wonder what happens when you die,” Nicolle finally said.

            Over a decade later Nicolle found that out. You’re given a choice, it seemed: up or down, up being beyond, or something like that, and down being to remain. The majority, too strongly affected by the absorbing peace of whatever lies beyond, as Adam put it, chose to go up. The minority, with unfinished business too important to leave unfinished, chose to go down.

            Adam had feared for Nicolle, he said; both born into a cruel family, he understood that she wasn’t strong enough to handle her household alone. For ten years he lingered unseen, hoping to find a way to help her, to make contact. It was this hope that led to him speaking to other spirits " spirits don’t often converse with one another " and hearing rumors that people existed with Black Eyes. Most had never heard of them, few even believed in them, and only one claimed to have met a man with Black Eyes.

            I didn’t believe in them, Adam admitted. I didn’t forgo the possibility, but I thought it was too unlikely to pursue. And then one morning, peeking into your bedroom window " I promise I respect your privacy, but I wanted to check in " I saw that your eyes had changed colors. It was enough to make me call out to you.

            They had somehow left the forest, beginning to walk until they emerged into the countryside; if seen, Nicolle smiled to think, she would appear to be walking alone. As they walked they talked, about memories (the time they sat in a tree for hours), about school (bad times passed, hopefully good times coming), about family (and the origin of Nicolle’s bruised eye). Eventually, looking up, Nicolle realized they had reached Granddaddy Longleg’s house. He wasn’t home, perhaps at the cemetery, perhaps at a diner, perhaps at the hospital where his daughter lay recovering.

            “Have you ever seen Grandmama Longlegs?” Nicolle asked. Her heart raced for a moment, the possibility opening that another lost loved one would soon appear to console her, to smile with her…

            “No, never,” Adam said, but he didn’t sound sad. “I believe she moved on.”

            “Does Heaven exist?” Nicolle asked. Merely a week ago such a question would have been idiocy in her ears; now she asked with a sincere heart.

            “There’s something, someplace, on the other side… the final resting place. I can feel the pull of it from here, like a magnet, the peace of it all. I don’t think Grandmama had unfinished business. I think she went on. It seems that once you go there you can’t come back… or at least, I’ve never met anyone who has returned from there. Each spirit I meet is either running from punishment or seeking revenge or hanging around loved ones they can’t let go of…” He chuckled. “Perhaps I fall into that group.”

            Nicolle had been close to responding I’m glad you do, but was she really? Her brother was ten years due for that peace, that final resting place, but had sacrificed it for loneliness, to watch over her without reward.

            “Will you ever go on?” Nicolle’s voice begged please no, her selfishness shaming her.

            “Eventually I’ll have to, I think,” he said, looking at her with kind eyes. “But no time soon.”

            They wandered the grounds of their grandparent’s home much like they always had, taking in the peace it offered, eventually making their way to the back porch, which overlooked untouched countryside to the ends of the horizon.

            “We spoke once of running out there,” Adam said, “and never looking back.”

            “We had lots of escape plans,” Nicolle said. She didn’t expand on the obvious: none of them had ever been realized. Adam’s eventual escape had not been what they’d had in mind, and Nicolle’s coming escape " her plan to leave for Carolina after graduation " still had a sad measure to it, as if it would join the list of escape plans unfulfilled.

            “I don’t like you living at home,” Adam said; Nicolle noticed, strangely, that he called it home still. “At the age of ten it was difficult to put into words, but now I understand. You have to leave.”

            “I’m going to,” Nicolle said.

            “And what’s more,” he continued, “you need to be extremely careful with this newfound thing of yours, the ability to see the dead.” He leaned against the railing on the porch, arms crossed. Nicolle noticed with interest that though no breeze blew Adam’s hair danced regardless, as if a steady wind raced across the countryside. “Not all spirits are gentle. Some are malevolent and have ways of touching the physical world that I don’t understand.”

            “What do you mean?” Nicolle asked.

            “Just that. They can influence things in this world to an extent. I don’t know how to, though I’ve searched. I voluntarily sought out some of those spirits in the past, hoping to learn from them a method of helping you physically instead of just watching. They were very lethal… I was fortunate to leave with my life.”

            Nicolle was curious of what “life” Adam had been fortunate to leave with but didn’t ask. All along " while she sat in the relative safety of her room, not believing in anything supernatural, thinking that Adam was long gone, never to return " her brother was quarreling with malevolent spirits in the hope of aiding her.

            This time a breeze did blow across the land, Nicolle squinting her eyes against its strength. The tall grass in the pastures beyond swayed in that way Nicolle always loved; it was like a trance.

            Adam exhaled heavily and closed his eyes.

            “What, what is it?”

            “I’ve been here for nearly an hour and a half now... for far too long.”

            “No... for far too little.”

            He opened his eyes again and smiled at her. “The length of time I can usually stay here comfortably is about thirty to forty five minutes... today I stayed longer because I couldn’t help myself, but now I’m experiencing discomfort. I’ll need to be going soon.”

            So the dream was about to end, so much left unsaid, so many stories untold. “When can you be back?”

            “I expect probably in about two days or so... maybe a bit longer, since I stayed so long this time.” He looked at himself and nodded, not looking surprised. “See? I’m losing strength, so I’m fading...”

            He was; it troubled Nicolle that she could see the landscape behind Adam by looking through him.

            “I love you.”

            Nicolle looked back at him, willing her face to express what words couldn’t. “I love you too. Two days then…?”

            “Maybe it won’t be longer than that. If it is, I’ll file a formal complaint with Heaven.”

            Nicolle snorted a laugh, a laugh that died almost instantly. She wanted to hug him so badly. She remembered, so suddenly, a thought she’d had long ago, an anguished thought: I never said thank you.

            “Thank you,” she said.

            Adam didn’t say what for or you have no need to thank me, but merely nodded and smiled. “It’s in the job description of being big brother… you have to take care of your younger sister.”

            “You always were the strong one,” she said; he was becoming even harder to see.

            “You sell yourself short, by far,” he said; his voice was more of an echo now. “You’re strong, Nicky. Or perhaps that isn’t the word for it… but there’s something there…”

            He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder; like the image, the warmth had lessened as well. He was almost gone.

            “… I don’t know the word for it. It’s a Nicolle Darling thing, and it’s amazing--”

            “Adam"”

            “And soon, I think,” he finished, “everyone’s going to notice.”

            “Adam,” she said called out, but he didn’t call back. She couldn’t see his image any longer. And yet… yes… she could still feel his hand on her shoulder for a second, the reassuring hand of a protector, and a slightly more intense heat, perhaps from a squeeze intended to say I love you, or be strong, or until we meet again.

            The wind blew, her shoulder cooled, and he returned to wherever he came from. Feeling short of breath, Nicky laid down on the porch swing and watched the blue sky.

 

            Her mother did not come home that night; intending to be sure that everything was okay she was being kept at the hospital. Her step-father presumably was with her; whatever the case, Nicolle was blessedly alone. Night had fallen; she sat at her computer holding ice to her bruised face, hoping the swelling and discoloration would be better by the time she awoke.

 

            QRSTUVee: It sounds like it was all self-defense. I’ll still have to mention it to Dom, but he’ll agree with me.

            Salem4: Do you think they might find something that could give away our secrets?

            QRSTUVee: Not even close. They might be a bit confounded by whatever they find, but they’d have as much possibility of suspecting that it had been caused by an Artist as they would by an alien or something. I wouldn’t worry about it.

           

            Nicolle imagined Vee in her room, lying on her bed with her laptop, her mother and father hanging out downstairs, perhaps watching a movie together. She missed that house very much. Even alone Nicolle felt stress, dead in the center of her chest, a pent-up thing that refused her rest as long as she was in her own home. She wished that Adam was still with her.

 

            QRSTUVee: Dom asked about our progress last night.

            Salem4: What did you tell him?

            QRSTUVee: I said that you did a super job and that you could control your Artistry now. You’re a serial killer of ants, I told him.

            Salem4: lol

            QRSTUVee: Are you ready for school tomorrow?

Salem4: No.

            QRSTUVee: Listen, I’ve got your back, and so does everyone else in the club. It’ll be fine. I should know, I’ve been doing it for years.

            QRSTUVee: I can’t read your mind from this distance but I betcha my foot you’re worried about Eli lol.

            Salem4: I’ve never so much as talked to a guy, much less try to date one.

            Salem4: Or take one from another girl.

            Salem4: And Presley Llewellyn is not just another girl. She’s pretty much perfect.

            QRSTUVee: Talking like that from here on out is officially banned. As your coach I ban it.

            Salem4: You’re banning it?

            QRSTUVee: I’m banning it. From now on, YOU’RE pretty much perfect and Presley is seaweed.

            Salem4: lol

            QRSTUVee: No, don’t “lol”, you’ve gotta repeat it.

            Salem4: You’re legitimately worrying me now.

            QRSTUVee: LOL

            QRSTUVee: You better repeat it or I’m logging off.

            Salem4: Presley is seaweed.

            QRSTUVee: And you’re pretty much perfect.

            Salem4: And I’m pretty much perfect.

            QRSTUVee: And presto! Lesson one is complete. Repairing your self-image. I’ve been in your head, your self-image sucked, but we’re working on it.

            QRSTUVee: But ANYHOW… you need to get to bed, Darling. We didn’t sleep much last night so you need as much as you can get tonight. BIG DAY TOMORROW!

 

            Nicolle’s eye was bruised. She would see Timmy for the first time since their fight and also for the first time wearing Chess Club shades. She would be looked at by everyone she passed; even teachers would feel awe, reluctantly. She would be part of the cool pack now, walking with the Chess Club itself. She would be in the Center of Attention; to her, yes, those words were capitalized. Big day tomorrow? Absolutely freaking enormous day tomorrow.

            Nicolle did go to bed, heart pounding hours before she even had to be up, and Adam’s word’s kept replaying in her head.

            “It’s a Nicolle Darling thing, and it’s amazing, and soon, I think, everyone’s going to notice.”

            “Did you mean it, Adam?” she called out foolishly, knowing he couldn’t hear her. And yet she still " whether through imagination or reality she had no idea " felt that warmth on her shoulder. She smiled and slept peacefully.

            

Reviews

[Lost in Wonderland]

awwwhhh! I love this book so freakin' much! YAY!! ADAM CAME BACK AND NICOLE SERIAL KILLED ANTS ;D

[ScottWinchester]

LOL :) Well... thank you :) I'm seeking representation right now lol. Thank you thank you thank you for reading :) Very kind of you.

[Lost in Wonderland]

no prob:)